Moving Forward
by A Quiet Place
Summary: Warning: Spoilers for Civil War. Based a few months after the film, a short fic about how Bucky finds his way with help from the renegade avengers. Cheese warning: High.
1. Where do we start

Authors note: I own nothing, I just wanted to play a simple conversation on the aftermath of the film and see how it went.

It was over, none of it was his fault. Steve reminded him on a daily basis, what else could Bucky do but helplessly agree? Knowing that wouldn't erase the memories of the nightmarish years of his life, hearing those words didn't help him sleep, but Steve didn't need to know any of that. All he, Captain America, needed to know that he had made the right choice, that he hadn't abandoned his friends for an irredeemable man.

So Bucky was trying to be redeemable.

Just before Zemo had decided to force him out of hiding, he had been, in a strange way, content. Sure every day was an on-edge day, he'd had to keep himself under the radar, but he wasn't killing anyone, and for Bucky that was a definite plus. He had found ways to cope with his guilt, refusing to bend to depression, he kept himself very busy learning about the modern world. He even made steps towards being something of a human being, even if it was just a turn of phrase here and there to a shop keeper or waitress.

But after the whole fiasco, where Iron man had justifiably tried to rip him limb from limb for the murder of his parents, Bucky had felt a sense of displacement. The things he had done, even if beyond his control, would follow him around like a shadow for the rest of his days. Just coping wasn't going to be enough to get through. But he had planned without hesitation to survive, it was what he had been trained for after all.

It had been something of an awakening, even with Steve's adamant defiance that Bucky was anything but his dear old friend, he knew the neither of the men he had been, Bucky or the Winter soldier, could exist any longer. He would have to be something or someone else, there was no going back or forward without that compromise. The trick was learning how.

With Steve there with him, it was easier to pretend. He had tried desperately to remember their youth, the dancing girls, the fights, the war, but all that came to mind was scrambled yet detailed accounts of his assassinations. In those at least he had no doubts, of what Steve tried to remind him of he couldn't quite believe.

In the months that followed he had been given something of a pass from Steve and the others, which was both relieving and humbling. He wasn't sure how to thank them, the words he had would never be enough, so he helped. He found weakness of their shattered little group and he filled it with his strength where ever and when ever he could.

Black Widow or Natasha as she insisted from him now, had found them a base of operations, somewhere they could continue their work without being harassed by the government. It moved, they moved, a lot. They had lost a lot of their tech, without Tony's technology and know how, things were going to be tight, mostly on repairs and transport.

Wakanda offered as much as they were able without rousing suspicions, managing to replace Bucky's dismantled and mangled left arm, but with no secret identity to hide behind, the King could not be physically seen with the renegades.

Despite this, Steve remained as ever, steadfast and resolved to carry on saving lives, to be strong, and unwavering. Which was easy for a man who didn't need machines to operate, although his uniform certainly needed replacing more times than not. They relied on Natasha's connections, and hope that what remained of S.H.I.E.L.D would be at their disposal.

They trained, they planned, they rested but mostly they hid. It was becoming a routine, one Bucky was already overly familiar with. He didn't mind at all, not really, what took getting used to was having people to do it all with, that and being allowed to stay awake once a job was done, actually remembering it all and calling those memories as his own.

He had a feeling when they were all together, of growing familiarity and fondness, it was something he knew had come before Hydra, even if he couldn't pin-point the memory, the feeling was familiar. It felt good, really, really good.

Despite all his loss, he did have the single moment it had all begun to fall into place for him, Steve and Natasha had their turn cooking, both laughing at some mess they had made, Sam, Wanda and Scott had sat down to play a board game that was unfamiliar to Bucky. It was a rare night off for them all, the tensions of the whole year seemed to melt away in an instant, and Bucky had stood awkwardly, watching them all, imprinting the scene to his memory. One of the few good moments he could recall without any effort.

Since then he had tried so hard to make more memories like that, he had been caught many times, just staring fixedly as his team mates argued or joked or gave dramatic speeches, responding with a quiet quirk of his lips that was not yet a smile. But it could be.

One evening, Steve cornered him after training, sweat beading on his brow, bruises around his face healing even as he spoke, Bucky had a towel in hand, wiping the blood from his metal knuckles with a stalled apology on his lips.

"You've been quiet, Buck." His tone was careful, not wanting to have the soldier clam up on him.

"Am I not always quiet?" Bucky answered with sincere confusion.

"More so, than usual." Steve's eyes creased with concern.

"It's been difficult, you know." Bucky paused, searching for the right words.

"Yeah," Steve nodded a little and rested his hand on Bucky's fleshed shoulder. "About what you said, when we were looking for Zeno, wondering if you were worth all the fighting. You know I still think the answer is one hundred percent yes."

"That's not it." Bucky shook his head, resting the towel over his shoulder. "Cap- Steve," he licked his lips, trying to find the words. "I don't regret pulling you from your world and into mine. I don't regret the Avengers being torn apart. I know I should, I should feel bad about it, but I don't. It gave me this-" He paused, "this life." He took in a deep breath and looked up at the Captain, his shoulders squaring up a little in self assurance.

Steve stared for a moment then smiled. "Neither do I."

Bucky felt something of relief pass through his chest, but he couldn't stop there. "You want me to remember before the war, I have tried, but I don't care about any of that either. Whoever that man was, it isn't me, at least not any more."

"Don't say that, Buck." Steve frowned at him, concern and pain growing in his eyes. "I know who you are, and who you will always be."

"No, Captain- Steve, that is who you remember, but that is not me. I need you to understand, whatever life we had is done, it's gone with the past." Bucky shook his head, dark hair falling about his eyes.

"So you are just giving up on those memories?" Steve was about to start an impassioned speech, his blue eyes filling with that sincere need to be heard but Bucky stopped him, raising his metal hand.

"I am not this either, I am not the winter soldier, I'm something else. I need to be something else. I don't know how to make you understand."

Steve stared at him for a moment, his jaw clenched slightly before he replied. "When Zeno questioned you he called you James. Do you remember?" Bucky nodded mutely. "You told him your name was Bucky. I called you that name. Before then, you had just been the Winter soldier, I called you Bucky and you kept it. Do you know why?"

Bucky paused, his brows knitting as he revisited the memory. "You gave me a name, and I remembered it."

"It stuck to you even when they tried to take it all away." Steve leaned in to be eye level with his friend. "Because it is yours, you understand? All those forgotten memories will come back, because they are yours, they are and will always be part of who you are."

"Things have changed, Steve, I can't just bury the assassinations, just like I can't live my life on the hope that I will remember a time before them." Bucky's tone was quiet but clear.

"No, I know." The captain closed his eyes a moment. "I hope you understand, what I remember of you, that is my Bucky. When I see you, I see him, I see the man who stood by me when no one else would, who had my back." He opened his eyes to look determinedly at his companion. "When we fight together you do the same thing, you stand by me you fight for and with me. How do you expect me to believe that deep down, you aren't the man I remember?"

Bucky stared at him, his lips parting in surprise, it was true most of his battles with Hydra were fought alone, he had rarely been given the opportunity to work as a team, and yet with Steve it just came so naturally, like instinct.

"Whatever you decide, I will stand by you." Steve continued, his hand squeezing reassuringly against Bucky's shoulder. "But I refuse to believe you are not the man I have always known you to be."

Bucky had no real argument, but the tightness that had been growing in his chest was suddenly gone. That was the first moment he felt like he belonged, filled with the undeniable knowledge that no matter what the future brought their way, Steve would always be there.


	2. The fight

Authors note: So I liked writing the first part and thought I'd give another part a go. No plot here just scenery.

Somewhere behind the machine there is a personality.

Steve watches his old friend, his lost friend, stumble into the new world. Bucky's like a foal staggering around on new legs, not yet sure how to run without tripping, still determined to try. What gets Steve is that it's almost sad just how gentle Bucky is with everything, like he's afraid moving too fast will shatter the peace or awaken violence.

He reaches for things with exaggerated care, holding them for a few seconds too long, inspecting each element as if expecting it to trigger some horrid memory, or, as Steve hopes, he is simply seeing it all with new eyes. It's disquieting to watch, but that's all Steve can do.

Bucky's voice is always measured, as if the weight of each word could do him harm if not used in the right way, not carefully thought out before hand. But there is change in him, a growing confidence, or perhaps he has found a way to ground himself in the world he hadn't been allowed to be part of for so long.

Those guilt laden stares into blank spaces, when his mind was traveling dark paths became easier to disrupt. It breaks Steve's heart when Bucky is like that, he makes a point to stand beside him and make some quip, some terribly transparent comment about the weather, or even just to call his name to bring him back to the present. With deliberate practice, bringing Bucky back takes less and less effort.

The others help, they encourage comments, jokes, scathing rhetoric and Bucky had begun to play the game in return, offering almost imperceptibly sniping remarks. The had all caught on fairly quickly, Natasha especially enjoys them, she picks up on them much faster than everyone else, her eyes taking in much more about the soldiers subtle facial movements. Her lips often quirked into small smiles, merriment dancing in her eyes as she listens to Bucky talk.

They spar in the mornings, while the others are willing to help Steve trains with him the most. Bucky doesn't need to pull his punches against a super soldier, although, even with that element on his side, the Captain had his fair share of bruises; being hit with a metal arm doesn't exactly tickle.

Still, Steve doesn't mind, he even relishes the challenge, the once Winter Solider never holds back, not even for a sparring match. Bucky's new metal arm is lighter, faster; despite that he he still hits like a truck, now it's just twice as much work to avoid.

It even has Steve working up a sweat as he blocks the insane barrage of punches, while trying to get the upper hand, but Bucky isn't letting up. The Captain rolls back on his heels to avoid a strike that would have broken the jaw of any regular man, but is still unable to press any advantage to swap from defense to attack.

Bucky barely gives him any breathing room, determined to push Steve's buttons. The captain is convinced this is no longer just sparring to the soldier, this is a battle of domination, Steve has to stop it before it gets out of hand.

"Bucky!" He ducks, deflects with his forearm and shifts away again. "Stop!" There is already a welt forming on the flesh of his arm.

"How are you going to get revenge if we do?" Bucky replies in such an off-hand manner that Steve stops and stares, unsure how to take the comment at all, but as the metal fist comes careening towards his face he has little time to process it.

Steve dives to the side, recovering a few precious steps of ground, a frown knitting his brow, uncertain whether to continue or to be mortally insulted. Then he sees it, the unmistakable quirk of lips, the glint in his friends eyes. Bucky is _teasing_ him. He feels a rush of excitement, it's almost like looking at his old friend. He feels his face split into a grin.

The soldier's eyes crease with acknowledgement and challenge, Captain America feels the enthusiasm to not only carry on but also to win. He will not back down, not when it could mean more secret smiles, more taunts and games from the damaged soldier who thinks himself not a man at all.

There would be a sacrifice of a few free hits to get past Bucky's onslaught, but it would be so very worth it to see the surprise, or the glee liven up his old friends face. He takes his chance when Bucky's non-metal fist slams heavily into the right side of his rib cage. The air rushes from his lungs but Steve still manages to take the chance, his own fist circling outside the soldiers stance to knock Bucky square on the cheek.

Bucky reels, falling immediately into defense, and stepping out of Steve's reach to touch the battered flesh, he is going to have a shiner tomorrow. His face is a mask, one Steve is determined to remove.

"I count that as revenge." Steve grins at him, bouncing on the balls of his feet, there's a split second of silence but then Bucky _smiles._ It's like watching the sun come out from behind rain clouds, Steve could almost hear the angel choir singing in the background.

"You can do better." Bucky taunts, the smile turning determined, and it's like he's alive again, even for the briefest moment, this is the Bucky Steve knows. He has little time to celebrate as the soldier is already driving forward for another assault. There's no rage between them, it becomes a game, of who can best who, what will the victor do, what words, what taunts, what human interaction can pass between them.

They end in stale-mate, each gripping the other in a ridiculous hold that leaves neither of them any hope of further movement without one or both of them relenting. They are both on the floor, battered, bruised and a little bloody, panting and exhausted but _laughing._

Steve honestly can't recall a time where he had felt so relaxed, not since the serum. Seeing Bucky, _his Bucky_ surfacing from the confines of the Winter soldier is like a breath of fresh air.

"Punk." Steve chuckles, it is the trigger for their simultaneous relinquishing of each others limbs. They lay there on the mats, side by side, while they catch their breath. Neither feeling the particular urge to stand and break up the moment. Reality could wait a little longer.

"Thank you, Steve." Bucky's voice is gentle, sincere.

"Bucky." Steve turned his head to regard the other man, dark hair still slicked with sweat sticking to his forehead in unruly strands. Words faltered against his lips, what could he say? Nothing seemed quite adequate, instead he poured what words he couldn't find into a smile. It's reflected back at him, perhaps not as broadly, but the heartfelt sentiment is still there. It's enough for Steve.

When they finally get off the floor, it's as if they are leaving something of the weight of the world behind. Bucky moves with straighter shoulders, his smile replaced with a quiet resolution. For the first time in a long time, it seems like things are going to be okay.

Nothing can shake the smile from Steve's face for the rest of the day.


End file.
